


In the Service of Agmar's Hammer and Koltira Deathweaver's Blade

by Quickblade



Category: World of Warcraft
Genre: Agmar's Hammer, Blood Elves, Death Knight, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-28
Updated: 2013-01-28
Packaged: 2017-11-27 07:49:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,141
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/659557
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Quickblade/pseuds/Quickblade
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A young blood elf rogue is sent to Agmar's Hammer in Northrend to assist a Kor'Kron captain, but soon finds himself in the service of the legendary Koltira Deathweaver.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In the Service of Agmar's Hammer and Koltira Deathweaver's Blade

It was cold that night, colder still than it had been in Borean Tundra just a few days ago. Telloriel's journey had brought him from Warsong Hold across the flat expanse towards Dragonblight. He had heard of the place and longed to offer his services to the Wyrmrest Accord. But when he had heard about the Knight of the Ebon Blade who was stationed in Agmar's Hammer, he had immediately agreed to go there. That was a task worth a detour. It was not just any death knight. No, it was Koltira Deathweaver himself, the first to turn his back on the Scourge and join the New Horde. It would be an honour to serve him in any way possible. Telloriel had been there the day before and accepted a task from a Kor'Kron Guard Captain named Gort, but he had not seen the legendary death knight. Now he was returning.  
The swift windrider glided towards the small fortress, a black spot in the midst of the snow, illuminated only by a large fire between the buildings. The red headed rogue shielded his eyes from the ice pellets pounding at his face. He longed to be back on the ground again. And soon Agmar's Hammer was right under him. The windrider circled once, then landed.  
Telloriel swung his slender body out of the saddle and jumped to the ground. He thanked the flightmaster, a tauren who seemed annoyed and cold. Now where did he check in for repairs? He needed some help with his gear after a harsh fight against a draenei death knight that he'd met earlier that day. Despite his poisons and agile attacks, she had been a fierce opponent, infecting him with mind freeze and blood boil and other such fiendish things. He had only won because of his swiftness, and afterwards he'd had to apply his first aid skills to bandage his wounds. But he was fine now, fit for service. “For the Horde” - and for Garrosh Hellscream? Hardly. For whoever paid the most gold or had the biggest pockets to pick when they turned their backs. Or, in this case, he had to admit, hopefully for the Ebon Blade.  
He hoisted his backpack onto his shoulder and found Captain Gort. They had a brief discussion, and Telloriel was paid for the job. And there was one more thing. Good. Telloriel had been afraid that he would have to approach the elven death knight on his own, enquiring if he was in need of assistance, but Gort asked him to bring a fleshbound tome written in blood to the other man. Telloriel accepted this task, not bothering to question why the captain did not just cross the settlement himself.  
He started walking towards the fire. A lonely figure was restlessly circling it with a large sword glowing a menacing green in his hand. Ready to strike, should the enemy appear. He was wearing black plate that covered him so that only his head was visible. A long mane of almost-white hair spilled over his broad shoulders and onto his no doubt muscular back. Telloriel stood for a moment, gathering his courage. He had come this far. Why was he hesitating now?  
“Excuse me, sir,” he finally plucked up the courage to say.  
The tall death knight turned around. “What?”  
Telloriel mustered a smile and saluted. “My name is Telloriel. It's cold tonight, huh?”  
The death knight's radiant blue eyes narrowed. His face must have been strikingly beautiful once. Now it was a greenish shade and gaunt, but he was still as charismatic and stunning as Telloriel had imagined. He let out an audible sigh. “Make it quick.”  
Telloriel nodded. “Yes, sir. I've come to offer my services to you. And I was told to bring you this ...” He held out the large tome, a volume that no one else was able to translate. “I was told that you might be able to translate it.”  
The undead elf sized him up, obviously assessing his equipment. Telloriel hoped that he would find it satisfactory. “We can always use an able hand. However, there are only two things in life that interest me, peon, and neither of them involve translating a Scourge tome for you.” He paused and frowned, then reached out to take the tome. Their fingers briefly touched in the process. Telloriel imagined how the death knight's hands would look without the heavy gloves. Perhaps there was a bit of static electricity in the arctic night air, but he felt a small shock going through him when they touched, even despite the gloves. “However … Perhaps we could work something out that would benefit the both of us.” He put the tome aside and held up his sword, almost lovingly. “This is my runeblade, Byfrost.”  
Telloriel nodded. He knew this. The blade was almost as legendary as its master.  
“Byfrost thirsts for the blood of the Lich King and his minions, but first I must etch upon it runes of power. Symbols of frost, blood, and shadow. Bring me suitable sources of power and I will translate your tome.”  
“Yes, sir,” Telloriel said readily. He had no idea what these things would be, but he would figure it out. He always did. He would scout the premises, and something would stick out – a beast that needed slaying, items that needed picking up. He had a knack for those things. It was one of the abilities that had gotten him this far.  
The death knight inclined his head. “We have an agreement.” Then, almost as an afterthought, he added, “You look exhausted, rogue. Get some rest at the inn.”  
Telloriel nodded. “Thank you.” He began to make his way to the large and looming building.  
“And rogue,” the death knight called after him.  
Telloriel turned around.  
“Welcome to Agmar's Hammer.” A thin smiled graced his lips.  
Telloriel grinned. “Thank you, sir!”

The next morning was clear and cold. Telloriel looked at himself in the mirror in his room in the inn. Green eyes stared back at him inquisitively out of a face that looked much too young to be a rogue of such skill and competence. He brushed back strands of unruly, bright red hair. He had scars to prove the many battles that he had seen, but most of these battle brandings were hidden from view most of the time. He ate a quick breakfast, slipped on his clothes and battlegear and left the inn.  
Outside he caught a glimpse of the grim death knight. He was pacing around the fire again, or perhaps still, Telloriel found himself thinking. Had the former servant of the Lich King been here all through the chilly night? Was it his dedication and sense of duty that kept him up, or was it demons hunting him after the terrible crimes he must have committed in the past?  
Telloriel shook himself out of these thoughts. It wasn't like him to stop and think like this. Wasn't his way at all. He left Agmar's Hammer, ready to look for ways to find what he needed to persuade the tall elf to help with the tome.

It was almost dark again when Telloriel returned to Agmar's Hammer. He had found the items that Koltira Deathweaver had asked for and although the tasks had required much time, stealth and hard work, he was satisfied. Satisfied, but tired.  
He presented his findings to the death knight and was rewarded with a few pieces of gold and a word of praise. It was strange that he should appreciate the words more than the money. Had it been an orc or some human, he would not have felt this way. He supposed it was the kinship that he felt towards other elves. Not, he internally scoffed, that he had ever felt particularly appreciative of anything Malfurion Stormrage or his likes had ever said. But then, when had druids and shamans ever meant anything to him?  
“While you have done much for me, one task remains,” Koltira spoke. His voice had grown more quiet, so quiet that it was almost a whisper. Telloriel understood that whatever the undead elf was about to say, it was of great importance and much pain to him. “Beside the world you know exists another world. It is from that world, the world of shadows, that my tormentors assault me.”  
Telloriel nodded. So his guess that the death knight's past kept him haunted him had not been so far-fetched after all.  
“While I am powerless to face my own demons,” Koltira Deathweaver carried on in his half-whisper, “You could end their reign of terror. You have the strength, I have seen it with my own eyes. Enter the world of shadows and face the demons that torment me! Do this and I will translate the tome, as promised.”  
Telloriel nodded once more. “Yes, sir,” he said. Was he being slightly blackmailed? It felt like it, but he didn't care much. The image of Koltira Deathweaver pacing around the fire, haunted, presented itself in his mind. Yes, he did want to help.  
The world went blurry for a moment. Telloriel blinked. He was still in Agmar's Hammer, but the place had changed. Shadowy figures were floating around the area. He had to slay six of them to weaken the Lich King's power over Koltira Deathweaver. That would not be a big problem. The rogue smiled and stealthed himself. They may be hidden from view in the Azeroth that he usually inhabited, but he could outhide anyone, even demons. He silently stepped up behind one and landed a well-aimed blow. While it was stunned and unable to move, Telloriel let his dagger and his sword dance. It was only a matter of seconds before the apparition collapsed.  
“Kill ussss all … More will come for him …” hissed the demon as it evaporated.  
Telloriel stood for a moment catching his breath, droplets of poison dripping from his blades. He did not like the sound of that, but he had heard empty threats before, and this just may be one. He restealthed and aimed for the next shadowy tormentor. It perished swiftly. It was going very well. They were not really proving to be difficult. Two down, and four to go, and …  
“Ah, the Horde... Meddling, as always. I suppose a welcome is in order. So welcome, insect. Welcome to my world.”  
Telloriel spun around at the voice. It was deep and booming and strangely familiar. The rogue gasped. The Lich King himself had descended into the middle of Agmar's Hammer on a frostwyrm. That Koltira Deathweaver had not warned him against. The dark apparitions, yes, but not this … How was he supposed to fight the Lich King? He narrowed his eyes. Well, he wasn't going down without a fight, even if he didn't stand much of a chance. He would fight to the last drop of poison, until he had used up every potion and every last bit of his energy, and then … Then he would, hopefully, be able to vanish and hide. As much as he hated to return defeated, his better judgement as a rogue knew that it was better to retreat and fight again another day.  
“You have crossed into the world of the dead in search of answer. You wish to save your ally and have risked life and limb to be here. Allow me to help,” said the Lich King. He was talking to Telloriel, undoubtedly, but he was not attacking.  
Then he felt someone, or something, approaching, but a fraction of a second too late. Two of these shadowy tormentors had moved up behind him, and he felt a sharp stab of pain as he was turning around to face them. He took a step backwards and gritted his teeth. He felt adrenaline rush through his body as he launched into the battle.  
“The boy believed that he was free, but free will has a price,” Telloriel heard the Lich King call behind him. “The demons I kept at bay are now loose upon him and all death knights that attempt to flee … Morgraine's sacrifice was for nothing. You will let Koltira know, won't you?”  
At the mentioning of the death knight's name, Telloriel felt a wave of rage and renewed energy. The Lich King was taunting them both. He kicked one of the demons, hard, then tore right through it with his main hand weapon. Having killed it, he turned to the other one. One of their attacks had gone right through his leather armour, and he could feel blood seeping through his shirt. That he would have to deal with later. Decisively, he sliced and diced his way through the tormentor. Before it had hit the ground, he turned around to face the Lich King again. He took his battle stance. Would he have time to apply a guardian elixir to himself before he was attacked?  
“Remember this, mortal,” spoke the Lich King, not entirely unamused, “For now I give you the choice. I allow you to pick your allegiance, but in the end, you will be mine – one way or another.” The frostwyrm began to ascend. He wasn't going to fight. He had only come to taunt and to see what was going on. Telloriel sneered. He didn't like the thought of being the subject of the Lich King's amusement. He didn't like the idea of being allowed to live like that. But it was better than being a dead rogue. He closed his eyes for a moment and took a deep breath.  
When he opened them again, Telloriel found himself back in the real world, in the real Agmar's Hammer, facing Koltira Deathweaver. The fights had not been that bad, but the weight of the wrath of the Lich King was all but crushing. If anything, he had all the more respect for the death knight now.  
“The power I hold comes at a great cost, Telloriel,” Koltira Deathweaver said, for the first time using the rogue's name. Being spoken by such a formidable warrior, it sent chills down Telloriel's spine. “Many knights, light and dark alike, lost their lives in the final battle at Light's Hope. The prospect of the future looks grim, but at least now I know what I face. The Lich King will never release his grasp and for that alone he must die!”  
The words were brave and powerful, but Telloriel sensed fatigue behind them. No wonder. If the exhaustion that he felt now was anything compared to what the death knight had been facing every day, it was amazing that he hadn't yet been crushed by his demons.  
“Will you join me in the inn for a drink? You look like you need it, rogue,” Koltira asked.  
Telloriel nodded. “Thank you, sir,” he said. He didn't add that they probably both did.  
They made their way to the inn and past orcs and goblins, most of whom stared fearfully or admiringly, or maybe both, at the death knight.  
They ordered large mugs of ale and drank in silence.  
Telloriel studied the death knight's face. He really looked as if he hadn't slept for days. Did undead people actually sleep? Perhaps the man just constantly looked like this. Still, he was frightfully handsome. Almost painfully so.  
Perhaps it was the alcohol that made Telloriel bold, but after a few drinks, he suddenly looked up at the other elf and asked him, “I saw you outside this morning when I left. Don't you ever sleep?”  
Koltira scoffed. “I'm a death knight, rogue. We don't need sleep.”  
Telloriel bit his lip. His better judgement, the one that told him how to defeat any enemy and when to vanish, told him to quit. For once he ignored it. “Really? You look like you could use some sleep ...”  
The ice cold glare was upon him. “You will find it difficult to speak without a head,” Koltira Deathweaver said.  
Telloriel could feel the heat rising in his cheeks. “I apologise, sir,” he said. “If you will excuse me, I believe I need to get some. Sleep.” He took his helmet and his gloves and rose, sending the wooden chair screeching backwards across the floor.  
He was awfully upset with himself, although he didn't know why. It wasn't the first time he had spoken back to a superior officer. It wasn't the first time he had been berated for it, either, but it was the first time he had felt embarrassed or even upset that the other person had answered him so harshly.  
He closed the door behind him and began to strip. He had taken off most of his armour and was just about to take off his trousers when there was one short knock on the door. Telloriel didn't manage to answer before it was opened.  
“Quite a hasty retreat. Even for a rogue,” said Koltira Deathweaver drily.  
Telloriel made a face. “I was tired.”  
“Were you really.” It wasn't a question.  
Telloriel crossed his arms over his chest. Had the death knight come to taunt him?  
“I don't sleep,” Koltira continued. “But there is one more thing I require of you before I translate your tome.”  
“And what might that be … sir?” asked Telloriel. His heart was pounding so loudly that the undead elf must be able to hear it.  
Koltira Deathweaver did not reply. But Telloriel felt a strange force taking hold of him, and an unrelenting power forced him toward the death knight. A hand grabbed his hair and pulled his head back, and the cool lips of the undead elf met his. The kiss was hard, but not unpleasant.  
Without a word, the death knight let go of him again and began to strip. The disadvantage of plate was that it was harder to be spontaneous about those things. Telloriel had learnt that a long time ago when he had had an affair with a paladin. He found himself staring admiringly at the other elf as he took off his heavy armour. What was he expected to do? This was a superior officer. He had never … Well, never with another man. Once, during the Love is in the Air Festival, he had visited Undercity, and Sylvanas Windrunner had sized him up and noted that he was the first non-troll, non-orc, non-tauren, non-goblin to pay her a visit for days, and if he wanted his lovely card and his award for bringing her yet another of those blasted bracelets, he'd better make sure he deserved it.  
But this was different. Koltira Deathweaver was not the Banshee Queen. He was … well, a man. He had heard the rumours, of course, of the close, brotherly relationship between the elf and a human death knight, but he was starting to realise that perhaps it was something different from …  
“Are you just going to be standing there?” Koltira Deathweaver's voice cut through Telloriel's thoughts. This time it was his death grip that pulled the rogue closer, but his pale hand. He placed himself on Telloriel's bed and forced the blood elf to his knees on the floor. There was no doubt what he wanted. As Telloriel bent closer to take the death knight in his mouth, his leather trousers were beginning to feel painfully tight. It felt strange at first, not just to have revealed how well-endowed the death knight was underneath all that plate armour, but to to be close enough to literally taste him.  
Telloriel was starting to wonder if that was going to be it when the death knight pulled his head back by the hair again. Green eyes met those icy orbs of the undead.  
“Vendel'o eranu,” the death knight whispered in the rogue's native language.  
Telloriel found himself wondering why his reduced damage from falling seemed to be out of order at the moment. Koltira Deathweaver kissed him again and helped him out of his trousers, then coerced him onto the bed on his hands and knees. It was common knowledge that rogues did it from behind, but apparently they were a versatile class. Was the death knight going to just go ahead and ..? The answer came when Telloriel felt two cold fingers teasing him. Thankfully, the other elf was preparing him. It wasn't unpleasant at all. The fingers felt sticky. What was he using? The rogue ardently hoped that he had not picked up fish oil from Coilfang Reservoir or some sticky ichor from a spider somewhere.  
If he had wanted to ask or protest, however, Telloriel forgot everything about it a moment later when the other man decided that he had done his work. The blood elf gasped in pain and pleasure. His fingers grasped at the bed linen as the death knight entered him, hard and uncompromising. Koltira Deathweaver did not speak, nor did he breathe, being undead. Yet the rogue could hear him moaning softly, and it added to the almost maddening ecstasy. When the death knight's hand closed around him too, it was not long before he was brought to the quel'danil.  
Soon after, Koltira Deathweaver finished as well. He turned Telloriel around and studied his face for a moment. “Not bad for a rogue.”  
Telloriel wanted to come up with a suitable retort, but his mind felt like the wool of an Elwynn lamb. Not entirely unpleasant. Before he could think of a good comeback, he was pushed to the side, and Koltira put an arm around him. Right, death knights didn't sleep. Except when they had company, Telloriel thought as he drifted off to sleep.

It was the sound of a quill scratching quickly across a piece of parchment that awoke the blood elf hours later. He rolled over and winced. Who had he been fighting the previous day? Not that it felt particularly like a regular battle injury ... Telloriel opened his eyes and found himself staring at the back of a partly dressed Koltira Deathweaver sitting at the table in the small room.  
The death knight turned his head as if he had felt Telloriel wake up. “I am keeping my end of the bargain,” he said.  
“Thank you,” Telloriel replied. What else was he supposed to say? And what was he supposed to do? The undead elf provided no answer to his unspoken questions. Telloriel got out of the bed and began to collect the clothes scattered on the floor.  
“I … Are you hungry?” he asked after a while.  
“No. But eat if you need it. I will finish soon,” came the answer.  
Telloriel muttered a response and went out to get some breakfast from the innkeeper. When he returned, Koltira Deathweaver was fully dressed.  
The death knight handed him back the tome. “Here it is, Telloriel. I have translated everything printed upon the pages of the tome. Inside it you will find a list of the names of Cult of the Damned members spanning the entire continent.” He paused and gave a slight scoff. “Their network of spies and operatives is impressive, to say the least.”  
Telloriel nodded. It was hard to maintain a professional expression now. The death knight looked as if nothing had happened, nothing out of the ordinary. Telloriel found himself hoping that what had happened had been at least a little out of the ordinary for the tall elf as well. “Thank you, sir,” he said.  
For a moment, Koltira Deathweaver regarded him in silence. Then, almost as an afterthought, he added, “I plan on going North soon. The Horde has a battleship stationed there, monitoring the Lich King and his armies as well as the Alliance. Its name is Ogrim's Hammer. I am sure there is always need for able bodies.”  
“Thank you,” Telloriel said. “I am glad you find my body able.” He could have bitten his tongue.  
The death knight gave him a rare smile. “Indeed. Well, if you find yourself in Icecrown, I should like you in my service again.”  
Telloriel saluted him. “Thank you. I think I am headed that way after visiting the Wyrmrest Temple.” What now? No, he would regret it if he didn't at least … Before he could change his mind, the rogue stepped forward and reached up to kiss Koltira Deathweaver one last time. It was a relief to feel the death knight responding to it.  
Finally they both pulled back. “Farewell, friend,” the Knight of the Ebon Blade said, “May the book serve you and your people well.”  
Telloriel smiled. There was nothing more to say. He turned around and went outside. It was snowing again. He put his helmet on and made his way towards Captain Gort, hoping that the Kor'Kron Guard wouldn't notice the slight change to his gait, or at least attribute it to a battle injury.  
“Shorel'aran, Koltira Deathweaver. Until we meet again,” he muttered to himself.


End file.
